


Rouge

by Carolinian_Bog_Hermit



Series: Miscellaneous Vampire: The Masquerade Drabbles [2]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:00:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26762476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carolinian_Bog_Hermit/pseuds/Carolinian_Bog_Hermit
Summary: An older short drabble about Prince LaCroix's Embrace after Waterloo. Warning for violence / death / war-related themes.
Series: Miscellaneous Vampire: The Masquerade Drabbles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949839
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Rouge

**Author's Note:**

> The writing prompt was "color/light." I chose the color red. The color itself isn't mentioned much - I instead used it as a jumping point to write about something I had been thinking about.

He stares out over the jagged sea of crimson red like the forsaken captain of a sinking ship.

He would do anything to be able to cross it. To reunite with Gerard, to reunite with his wife. Such a promise he’d made, as he had before Russia, that he would return after an easy victory. But destiny and fate, the cold gods of his Emperor, have different things in store for him.

They take him at bayonet point, speaking in a harsh language he recognizes, but cannot place. Five other French stragglers, all of varying rank and background, join him. They are to be tested, proclaims their ringleader, a severe man dressed in the finery of an aristocrat.

They are to dig.

But the earth is saturated from the storm, from the blood. They have no shovels. How are they to dig?

_With your muskets. Your hands. Your teeth. I do not care._

_But you will dig. And when you are done, you will kneel._

He wants to refuse. Let them shoot him. Let them take him from this world as he holds his head proudly to the sky, granted some small piece of the glory that his Emperor had promised to him but never delivered.

Instead, a deathly fear overtakes him. It creeps into his belly, his bones, his mind, his very soul, an unholy crushing force unlike anything he’s ever felt. He bows his head in horrified submission.

He works with the fervor of a man possessed. He should not be able to part the earth in the way he does with his bare, bleeding hands. He should barely even be able to remain conscious. And yet, starved and exhausted, with his arm beginning to burn with infection, Sébastien LaCroix digs his own grave.

One of the prisoners collapses from exhaustion. A shot rings out. 

Faster, faster, he has to dig faster!

He is the first to finish, just barely. The noble begins to inspect the survivors, like horses at an auction ring. He shakes his head at the first of them. Another shot. Then the next man is inspected, then the next. They all fail the test and fall, finally at peace. 

His heart pounds. There is no wind. No breath on his neck. No warmth. The icy stillness drags on and on as Death itself seems to hover over him.

The nobleman inhales sharply as he inspects him. He says something to his fellows in a mocking tone, and they laugh bitterly.

When he speaks again, he understands him. 

_Bon travail, officier._ _You have been chosen._

A cold blade whips across his throat. He chokes and gurgles, scrambling to dam the torrent pouring from the slash in his throat. As during the battle, he cannot stem tide of blood. 

A palm is pressed against his lips. Flesh is forced into his mouth, flesh spilling forth a horrible sludge so bitter than it burns past the pain, the blood, the encroaching darkness. 

He is kicked forward, and the arms of hell itself reach up to embrace him.

_Very good. Now…_

_Dig._


End file.
